


Slow Dance

by cecilantro



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 22:48:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14628663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecilantro/pseuds/cecilantro
Summary: “This is not the kind of music that you can dance to.”“Let’s do it anyway.”





	Slow Dance

“Knock ‘em back, Cay.” Beau pushes another tiny glass of acid green into his hands and he pulls some kind of face at the nickname, she doesn’t get to see it, though, off to Yasha’s side for more bad flirtations. Caleb sees her hands flutter over Yasha’s arm as she pulls herself into the seat beside her, on Yasha’s other side, Mollymauk leans over and kisses her cheek very quickly, he slips off of the seat with a quick salute to Beau and leaves Yasha to flail over her attentions.

Caleb turns away from the friendly scene with a bitter taste on his tongue that is nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with himself as an ongoing problem. He throws back the shot to try and drown it out.

  
Molly is sidling up to the bards of the tavern when Caleb sees him next.   
“Playin’ anything I know?” He’s already edging towards drunk and the glass of wine in his hand threatens to tip, the bard beside him flinches and grimaces.   
“‘Pends where you’re from, mate.” They answer, amicable despite their expression, their fingers don’t falter once on the strings of their lyre, and Molly gives a light, full laugh. It swells over the music to fill the tavern.   
“Oh, all over! Everywhere and nowhere, take a shot, let’s see what I can do.”   
The bard that he’s been bothering gives the singer of the band a quick shout, a back and forth in Dwarvish that Caleb doesn’t understand, but he takes another shot from Beau when she waves it at him and sits himself back next to Fjord to watch as Molly preens and straightens and waits.   
“He ain’t gonna… is he?” Fjord looks at Caleb from the corner of his eye, and Caleb splays his fingertips lightly on Fjord’s thigh just for the contact of it. Fjord is warm.   
“Of course he is.”   
Molly launches into loud song with the bards, something rowdy and bouncing about drinking with a sweetheart, Caleb hears the words  _ wine _ , and  _ picnic _ , and  _ sunset _ and the rest blends away for him, the Common becoming difficult as alcohol and troubles drag down and drown his mind.   
“Caleb?” Fjord is leaning closer, “You alright, there? You’re kind of… bruising.”   
Caleb looks at the hand on Fjords legs and notes just how tightly he’s gripping, he lets go and pulls away immediately, gibbering out a string of apologies. Fjord catches his wrist as he whips it away.   
“D’you need somethin’ Caleb? Do y’ wanna hold my hand, would that help?”   
Caleb considers and the world makes it seem like he’s swaying, for a moment. And he concedes and nods, lets Fjord take hold of his hand, a firm grip, not tight, but comforting. They settle back down and watch as Molly consults with the bards and they launch into another song, one more like lore in nature, about an ancient fight between a cyclops and a halfling.   
Beau and Yasha join Caleb and Fjord halfway through the song, Beau slides Caleb another drink, not a shot this time but a glass of something that looks like whiskey and tastes like sweet chemical fire. Honeyed waves fill him, and he smiles a little into his drink, nods gratefully to her.   
“You’re on me tonight. Wait. Fuck.” Beau tells him and curses at her own phrasing, she throws her hands up, “Whatever. Make sense of it.”   
  
The bards move slowly into a much faster song, faster, but far more sad, and Molly pats his new bardic friend on the shoulder. Caleb has thrown back most of the whiskey when Molly comes up behind him and gives a hum of warning before setting his hands on Caleb’s shoulders, one either side, and leans down to talk quietly against his ear.   
“Quite enough drinking to drown your problems, Caleb, come and dance with me.”   
Caleb gives a bitter laugh.   
“No amount of alcohol could drown my problems tonight, Mollymauk.”   
Molly sighs and loops his arms around Caleb from behind, a loose hug and a quick kiss to the temple.   
“Come and dance anyway.”   
Caleb stands so that he can turn, face Molly, still aching but smiling despite himself.   
“This is not the kind of music that you can dance to.”   
“Let’s do it anyway.” Molly holds his arms up and out and raises his eyebrows, and Caleb gives a quick laugh and steps in, lets Molly settle them into slow dance position and swirls them into the clearer area.   
They dance slowly, completely off the beat, and Molly makes a deliberate show of twirling and dipping Caleb whenever they draw close to the table, making every effort to keep that small smile on his face. Whenever it begins to fade, Molly spins them, whirling around. And Caleb chuckles again, presses closer and they twirl away.

The tavern closes just after one in the morning, kicks the Nein out into the street, and Caleb has close to forgotten about the things that had swamped him just hours before. Molly, occasionally, drops in to him for a few quick, sweeping steps as they move through the streets, he swells with pride and affection when Caleb laughs. A few light breaths, nothing deep, but it’s enough to show that he’s enjoying himself, and that’s enough for Molly.

They come into the Pillowtrove in a hushed, rowdy mess, Nott scoots on ahead up to the room she shares with Caleb, Jester at her side, and Caleb makes a mental note to check his room for prank traps when he gets up there.   
He takes the stairs slow with Molly, they lean on one another far more heavily than they’d usually be comfortable with, but Molly seems to sense tonight that Caleb’s desire for the grounding is up there, as much as he’d never ask for it. So Molly winds an arm around his waist and leans into his shoulder and mumbles little goofs that Caleb breathes a touch harder at, not quite a laugh, but not  _ not _ a laugh either.   
They take so long that they’re alone when they reach the hallway that Caleb’s room is on.   
Molly pauses in the hall and presses Caleb up to the wall, gentle, amicable, Caleb drops his eyes anyway. Molly takes his chin and tilts it up, as much as Caleb tries very, very hard to avoid meeting his eyes, Molly tries just as hard to catch them.   
“Caleb.” He says, seriously, and Caleb hums angrily in response, Molly sighs. “Caleb, darling, tonight is not a good, permanent solution to your hurt.”   
“I really do not want to talk about this.” Caleb’s voice is monotonous, so much so that it drags.   
“You misunderstand,” Molly smiles a little, “I’m not asking you to. You don’t have to tell me why, it’s none of my  _ fucking _ business and I’ll never push you for it.”   
Caleb startles at that, actually makes the effort to meet Molly’s eyes.   
“I- I- thank you.”   
Molly dips to kiss his forehead, feather-light.   
“If I can help you, I want to. If you don’t want me to, I’m here anyway.”   
Caleb is silent for too long, the pressure of attention forcing him inward, he ducks into the collar of his coat like a turtle.   
Molly closes his eyes.   
“I’m here.” He says again, softer, and begins to draw back and away, and then there’s a hand in his hair and one on his shoulder and Caleb kisses him so hard that he draws blood. Copper bursts in Molly’s mouth as lights burst behind his eyelids, the split-second of freeze and he plants his hands on Caleb’s hips and pulls him in, flush, they press up against the wall and lose seconds, minutes to the kiss as it shifts back and forth, fluid between desperate, sweet, heated, and every state in between.    
They slow and stop, Molly rests his head to Caleb’s as they catch their breath, carefully measured panting.   
“I know you are here.” Caleb says, quiet, “Thank you, Mollymauk.”   
“It’s Molly to my friends.” He smiles, Caleb hears it more than sees it, “And  _ love  _ to my partner, whatever that is in Zemnian, that works too.”   
“Hm.” Caleb pauses to still his voice from the smile, “ _ Schatz _ , perhaps?”   
“Which is…?”   
“It translates literally to treasure, it is mostly the emotional context.” Caleb’s smile turns a little lopsided, embarrassment and affection tilting him, and Molly chuckles softly, and kisses him again.   
“I think I quite like that.”


End file.
